1942
by Eileen Blazer
Summary: Lt. Scott Summers thought he'd recieved the assignment of the century: protect starlet Anna Raven on her USO tour. But bombs, spies, and redeyed Cajuns are about to make his job difficult. [RogueGambit, ScottJean, AU]
1. Chapter 1

_**AN**: This is AU. Takes place during World War II, but note that it is bad history. Names, places, things are not always as they appeared in reality. Sadly, no mutant powers. Unsadly, it is Romy. And Scott/Jean, but don't let that distract you! I promise I have a great plan for the Ragin' Cajun and his girl. Plus, you know, there's also a secret pairing. Ooh, mysterious. In other news, I know I'm a bad, bad writer. But the muses are being particularly cruel and not allowing me to update the others, and I miss the feeling of having... well, something I like to work on. I plan on finishing out Slowly, Silently by the end of June, one way or another. Blue I shall update... any day now, I think. (Don't tell me its been 8 months!) OH! I thank kindly Ishandahalf for the beta._

**Obligatory disclaimer**_: Marvel makes its claim on me, alas, not the other way around._

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* * *

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**1942**

By Eileen Blazer

**December 17th, 1941 – New York**

_**Billy, Don't Be A Hero**_

"I don't want you to go," she whispered, clutching his left hand, even as his right signed all the important paperwork. The man behind the counter gave her a tired glare, which she promptly ignored. It wasn't any of his business. It wasn't his fiancé's life being signed away. She tugged on Scott Summers' thick sweater. "It's so dangerous."

He was all kindness as he pulled back, smiling faintly at her. "Jeannie, come on. I can't just sit back and listen to the news on the radio while other guys my age are out there fighting for what they believe in, can I? Look at it this way, at least I'll be an officer." He sounded hopeful, like he was praying she'd adopt his optimistic tone. "You have to admit, Lieutenant Summers does have a nice ring to it."

She didn't have to admit anything. After all, she was Jean Grey, daughter of a popular Senator. And Scott was her fiancé. All she had to do was smile at her father and ask nice and he'd pull the strings that would keep Summers out of Europe, the Pacific, and out of danger. She wished, with all her heart, that that were a viable option. It almost was, too, but for Scott's pride.

For all his tapered pants and expensive sweaters, Scott Summers was not a child of wealth. He'd been born and left for dead on the cold streets of New York and spent too many years bouncing from orphanage to orphanage. Only chance had brought him into contact with Professor Charles Xavier, a man of brilliance who'd seen a spark of something special in the brunette boy and adopted him into his home.

Since then, Scott had blossomed. He had a keen mind that loved to turn the corners of any challenge, a knack for adjusting quickly to changes in circumstance, and a genuine belief in the goodness of the human spirit, despite the trials of his youth. Much as she hated to acknowledge it, he'd do well in the army. He knew it too, and saw it as his chance to succeed in something on his own, without the shadow support of a wealthy girlfriend and gentleman benefactor. He wouldn't hate her for taking that opportunity away, if she did, but he wouldn't forgive her for it, either.

So she sighed and forced a smile onto her face, for his sake. "I'm just scared for you."

He smiled and wrapped an arm around her. "Have faith."

* * *

**_Fairy Tales Can Come True_**

"Ah'm never going ta make it as a singer," the girl exclaimed, sliding back into her chair. Wine red hair spilled down her back as she tossed her head dramatically. "Well, not unless Ah want ta sleep with every music producer in the business. An' believe me, Ah'm nowhere near that desperate. If Ah wanted ta sell my body for riches, Ah could find myself a nice ol' gentleman ta call me wife an' limit the number o' perverts in my bed ta one."

Her companion grinned. "I gather the radio program didn't pan out the way you'd hoped?"

"Ugh." The girl scrunched her nose. "Instead o' takin' me ta the studio, the creep led me ta his room where my competition was _just leavin'_. She wasn't even done buttonin' up! Ah took one look an' got the hell out o' there. Ah spent the next hour in my hotel room, scrubbin' the arm where he'd touched me. Never again, Tabs."

"You'll hate me for suggesting this, but maybe it wouldn't be so bad? I mean, just one guy to help you get your foot in the door. You're good, that's all you'd need! After that it'll be duets with Crosby and the Andrew sisters and cocktails stories about the Dorseys." She nudged her friend.

"Tabitha! Ah cannot believe what you just said."

"Well…" the friend flushed. "You're not exactly pure as the driven snow."

"Yeah, an' Ah don't go ta Church every weekend, either. Doesn't mean Ah'm ready ta sell my soul ta the Devil."

Tabitha smirked. "But I bet he could get you a fantastic record deal." She glanced casually down at her watch. "Oh! It's almost six! Lance is supposed to pick me up in half an hour. It's a good thing I picked out my outfit yesterday. I really have to go, but call me tonight, will you? We need to continue this conversation." She was up and gone in seconds.

All alone, the other made a face and turned her full attention to her thick, chocolate comfort. Or tried to, anyway. Soon, there was someone standing in front of her, casting shadows on her table. She glanced up and raised an eyebrow. "Can Ah help ya?"

"I'm glad you asked. I think we can help each other."

* * *

**Europe**

_**Good Riddance**_

The boat was waiting for one of the two people. "What if I never see you again?" the one said, blinking tears away from her eyes. She leaned her weight against the other's chest. "What if this is the end? If that's what this is about then, I don't care. I'm not going anywhere. I'll just stay here with you and take my chances. I'm not completely inept, you know. I could… no, _we_ could find a way. Please? Just don't..."

"It's not ending. Just being postponed."

"Right. And how am I supposed to find you? What if I can't? The United States is a long way from here."

"Pessimist."

She glared, through the darkness. "I hate you."

"You don't."

"Yes. I think I do. I might." She groaned. "I don't."

"Why can't you stay?"

She frowned. "Isn't that my line?"

"Doesn't matter. Answer it."

"Because…" she sighed. "Because I'm exactly who they're crusading against."

"Crusade? Don't imply a righteous cause."

"Fine. I'm their type, all right? And not in a good way."

"Katherine." It was a drawn out sigh.

"Oh God, don't start calling me that."

"Kitty. The boat."

She looked in the direction of the water. "Promise you'll find me?"

"Yes."

"Good." She leaned in, pressing a brief kiss to the other's face. It wasn't fair. God, nothing was fair anymore. She tore herself away and ran, jumping up the boat's stairs. On deck, faces were all sallow, tired, broken, and pained. Something clutched her heart as she leaned against the railing. It was going to be a very long ride back to America

* * *

**7 Months Later **

**_Good Girls Don't (But I Do)_**

"Frost?"

Emma tilted her head up instead of answering. Curious blue eyes examined the man standing above her. His stuffy suit seemed to choke him, his face ruddy with impatience while his mustache twitched like a dying dog. "Miss Frost, you failed to file your report this week. In fact, you've failed to file your report every week for a month."

"I'll give you my report right now. Everything is fantastic. Absolutely according to plan."

The man flushed a deeper red. "That is not the way we do things. You file regular reports." He leaned down. "I don't care who you screwed to get this job, Miss Frost. It is a high priority for us, and I will not let you ruin our chances. I expect all four reports to be sitting on my desk within the next five hours, _or else_."

"Or else what?" she teased, hooking a finger around his collar, pulling him closer until he was but a breath away. "Don't worry about me, I'm in control of the entire situation. You need to relax. You're dense. I mean, _tense_."

"Frost," he warned again. He sputtered when she laughingly pressed a kiss to his mouth and then pushed him away, a cold smile adorning her lips.

"I'm good at what I do. Don't get in my way." They exchanged glares, and then he pivoted on his heels and left. She rolled her eyes in casual disgust. Her time in the army had taught her superiors were rarely superior. But all the same, she pulled out her files, examining the facts one more time.

For the past three months, her job had been to acquire plans for the Blackbird, a supposed revolutionary piece of American technology crafted by U.S. scientists in the early stages of the war – just in case. Rumors of its existence had been floating around for years, but no one could find anything concrete. Whoever succeeded in obtaining information was assured a promotion and a place of power in the new world. Ever ambitious, Emma couldn't help but try her hand.

Contrary to her superior's suggestion, it hadn't been her sex appeal and loose moral code that won her the opportunity, although she was sure they'd helped. No, her husband had been handed the job and had labored eagerly for a month before someone – an ally spy, it was supposed – laced his martini with arsenic. She'd been at his side for that month of planning, though, and luckily was available and qualified to assume control of the operation after his untimely demise.

Her eyes scanned over the files. Rough sketches, assorted names, and a location: a club called Mancini's. Her fingers found her temples and rubbed, slowly, in tiny circles. All really was going according to plan. Her mole was in place. Soon enough, she'd be the Third Reich's best and only source of information regarding the Blackbird.

* * *

**United States_  
_**

**_Getting to Know You_**

"Well, Summers, you are one lucky bastard."

The young man gave a polite smile as he dipped his fork into the glob of mashed potatoes and blended it with brown, lumpy gravy. "Sir?" he wondered, as Major Smithe pulled out a chair and joined him.

"You have just landed the assignment of the century, Lieutenant. Better watch out, your peers just might kill to take your place. As it is, you're lucky they won't have the chance. You leave in approximately seven hours."

Scott choked a bit. "What? But I thought…"

"The man picked for the mission just lost a brother. His only brother, Summers, and you know the rule: it means he's out. You've been reassigned. Come this time tomorrow, you'll be sitting pretty in London with none other than Anna Raven herself." At this, the commander threw a stack of papers onto the table, revealing a photograph of the war's favorite pin-up girl. Legs up to here and the voice of an angel, men always said. Even in two dimensions, her smile dazzled. Glowed. Offered a piece of home.

Scott tore his gaze away to raise a quizzical eyebrow. "Sir?"

"The girl's gone noble. Wants to do a USO tour, but the Big Ups are afraid something bad might happen to Freedom's newest doll and damage troop morale. You're being put in charge of a platoon. Would you like me to tell you your new purpose in life, Lieutenant?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Ensuring Miss Raven's safety and securing the base where she's to stay. It's a small holding the allies have in London, a hotel called _Mancini's _that doubles as a club for soldiers like you. If either she or Mancini's winds up on the wrong end of a Nazi, you can kiss your advancement chances goodbye. On the other hand," the Major's eyes twinkled. "If she ends up on the right end of you, well, that's your business."

Scott suppressed a sigh. "Will I get the chance to call my fiancée? We usually talk on Thursdays. I don't want her to worry. She's already got a lot on her mind…"

"Yeah, sure." The major laughed, gesturing over Scott's shoulder, motioning someone towards the table. "Listen, most of the guys are already there, except for these two. Maybe you three ought to get acquainted now, have a few allies when you join the group."

And just like that, the Major was replaced with two other soldiers. One was short, but hard looking, aged but fit. "Sergeant Logan," he introduced himself, gruffly. Scott gave a nod. "Nice to meet you. _Sir_." That last part sounded like more of a sneer, but Scott didn't let it faze him. He'd gotten used to it by now, the older, experienced sergeants growling down at the fresh-faced lieutenants who outranked them. It was an understandable concern, and Scott certainly wasn't going to exacerbate the situation by letting his own pride get carried away. He needed Logan's experience.

"Glad to meet you." He turned to the third man at the table. "And you are…" Scott squinted to read the name tag. "Private LeBeau. I've heard that name recently. You aren't the same Private LeBeau who was caught sneaking two girls onto the base last week, are you?"

LeBeau, a man Scott's age or so, shrugged nonchalantly. "Didn't realize news traveled so fast."

"How did you get out of trouble so quickly?"

Another shrug, this time joined by a smirk. "Men are desperately needed in dis war, an' I'm a real good talker."

"I hope you don't plan on defeating Hitler the same way."

"No. For him, I got a slab o' C4 all special made."

"C4, huh?"

"Well," LeBeau crossed his arms, casually. "I do specialize in explosives."

"Sir." Scott corrected.

"Right." Remy said. He glanced down. "_Sir_."

* * *

**England -The Next Day  
**

_**Bored**_

Private Drake and Corporal Wagner listened as the hum of an incoming helicopter filled their little tent. Drake leaned back into his cot. "Who do you think is first, the girl or the boss?"

"The boss."

Drake wrinkled his nose and tossed aside the magazine he'd been reading. "Probably. But it is exciting, don't you think? We're going to be the personal escorts of Anna Raven. _The_ Anna Raven. I'd write home to my girl about it, except she's so jealous as it is, ever since her friend's guy wound up bringing home a walking, talking souvenir, the ring already on her finger. God, if I mentioned this to Amara she'd… You know, you're lucky you don't worry about the temptations of the flesh…" Drake trailed off.

Talking was always the problem. Managing the gun was no worry; he had good hand eye coordination. He'd been marching like a soldier since he was ten. But the talking, it always threatened to betray him. He'd start off well enough, just agreeing with the other guys, and then his tongue would start moving and the words would keep coming, and he knew, just _knew_, that someday soon someone would narrow their eyes in his direction and see it. His lie.

He didn't think they'd send him back home, not when there was still a war going on and he could still shoot the enemy. But once it was over? Drake didn't know if he could be court-martialled for lying to the recruiters about his age, but he didn't ever want to find that answer out. Just in case they didn't agree that fifteen was a virtual adult, anyway.

Corporal Wagner gave him a small smile. The guy was a saint, Drake thought. Born and raised in America's heartland, he was nice like the Nazis were twisted and it was really no wonder that he'd found religion to be his calling. "What are you looking at?" Wagner wondered suddenly, glancing down at himself. That was, of course, his one quirk. Well, aside from his insistent and peculiar sense of humor. Kurt Wagner was prone to fits of extreme self-consciousness, like he expected his skin to melt away and reveal a coat of fur, instead.

"Nothing, Mr. _Chaplain_," Bobby shook his head. "Come on, let's go meet the helicopter. We either get our alone time with the girl or get brownie points with the Lieutenant."

"Whatever you say, Drake."

"Yes, Sir!"

* * *

_**Follow the Leader**_

Scott liked salutes. He was good at them. They fit him. Once, Jean had talked him into dance lessons, and he'd been absolutely incompetent. An hour he'd spent stumbling over cold tile in poor mimicry of a waltz. The teacher had sighed, Jean had grinned encouragingly, and Scott had felt like a complete klutz. But in a salute, with its hard angles and swift movement, he was graceful for the first time in his life.

Scott Summers saluted his men. "Good afternoon," he called out, voice loud and strong.

The air was dry. He licked his lips and motioned for Private LeBeau and Sergeant Logan to step out before him. He'd never been to England before, but he didn't notice much of a difference between it and the base back home. Just lots of men in familiar suits and the surprisingly large Mancini's…

He hadn't imagined it was quite _that_ big. Like it could've been meant for more than just a club for soldiers and enthusiastic singers. It could've easily hidden anything… planes? Maybe. Tanks, without question. Filing that thought away, he turned back to the soldiers ready for his address.

"I'm Lieutenant Summers. It's good to see you all." He felt a slight urge to say more; to deliver one of those rousing, elegant speeches commanders and generals throughout history were famous for. But when it came down to it, they weren't in the business of flowery language. They weren't historians taking notes, just a group of young American boys who would've been out playing Chicken, dating girls, and finding inventive ways of avoiding school if the war hadn't called them across the Atlantic.

The pilot whispered something in his ear. Scott nodded. "All right, it seems as if Miss Raven's plane is just behind mine. I expect all of you to be on your best behavior."

* * *

_**Smile Like You Mean It**_

Anna Raven stepping off the plane was a lot like Aphrodite emerging full grown from the ocean. She was clearly moving into an entirely different element, but it didn't seem to matter. Nothing could shake the aura of confidence and beauty, of complete and utter comfort. "Good afternoon, gentlemen," she cooed, waving like a princess to the gathering around her.

"Miss Raven," Lieutenant Summers said cheerfully, "It's a pleasure having you here with us."

"Aw, shucks," she grinned. "Ah'm the one surrounded by a whole army o' cute boys. The pleasure is absolutely, one hundred an' fifty percent all mine."

"Let me help you with your bags," he said, reaching behind her to pull up the suitcases she'd brought along.

While he arranged them over his shoulders, she took the opportunity to look at the others. She passed over several soldiers before allowing her eyes to halt on one person in particular. Her lips parted, just barely, as one eyebrow arched up. "Remy LeBeau," she stated, taking a step forward.

Private LeBeau tipped his hat. "_Chere_. It's been too long."

"O' not long enough, dependin' on which side o' the Guess What, Ah'm Married surprise you were on." She gave him a long inspection. "How did ya manage a place in the army, anyway? With your record, it should've been straight ta the gallows."

"Gallows?" Remy laughed.

"Mmmhmm. Could've done commentary for it on the radio an' everything. Would've been a smashin' success in the ratings. Folks love the morbid."

"You are da show business expert."

"That Ah am."

"Glad it worked out," Remy said.

"Me too." She crossed her arms. "How is Mrs. LeBeau?"

"Dead."

She faltered, blinking a few times. "Oh. Ah'm… sorry."

"Don't be. She was murdered by her brother in their bed."

"In their…"

"Apparently, two siblings _can_ be too close," Remy sighed in explanation.

"Ick."

He shrugged. "I'm over it."

A nod. "Good."

"Great." They stared at each other a moment more, before Marie took a step back. They'd somehow gotten closer than propriety allowed. She reached up to smother a stray hair.

"_Mais_… have fun wit' da troops."

"Ah will, thanks." And Summers was back, taking her arm, showing her to her rooms. Remy watched her go, recalling the last time he'd seen that end of her…

"You know her?" one of the other privates breathed, his voice thick with envy.

"We dated once."

"You dated? I'd _kill_ to-"

"Check da desperation," Remy advised, patting the boy's shoulder.

"But… Anna Raven! I can't even _imagine_…"

"She wasn't Anna Raven den," he said, trying out the sound of her stage name. "An' it was long ago." He knew that even though it didn't feel like it, that much was true. They'd both been different people. He turned then, and headed in the opposite direction.

* * *

**That Evening…**

_**Calm Before The Storm**_

"If I could say something," Corporal Wagner said, standing up with drink in hand.

"Let's hear it, Preacher man."

"Go on, Mr. Chaplain."

He nodded and raised his cup higher. "We're sitting here tonight with cheap champagne-"

"Hey. It cost me two boxes of cigarettes!"

"-Anna Raven, and a new lieutenant…not that our last wasn't any good…"

"Easy on the sugar-coating, Wagner. Sweets are in high demand and low in stock."

"All I can say now is…" he drew his face into a long, serious expression and tossed on a fake British accent. "God bless us, everyone!" He grinned madly and ducked his head as crumpled up napkins went sailing through the air.

"Sit down, Corporal." The corporal did, ignoring the playful jostles of his comrades.

Scott rose up in his place. He looked thoughtfully at the glass, all shimmering sparkles, carved letters spelling out Mancini's, and soft weight. "To…" He gave a long look at the rest of his platoon, twenty men in all. The faintest hint of a smile graced his lips. "To victory."

* * *

Oh, _sigh_. I made you read the whole thing and there was only one Rogue/Remy encounter! GASP. Don't worry. If you review, there will be much more stuff going on here. Really! If you don't review I may cry and take_ drastic _action. I'm unstable like that. Hey! Questions, comments, and all coconuts can be sent to me at: eileenblzr (at) yahoo (dot) com. I can also be found at my livejournal, which is linked on my profile, or on Yahoo Messenger. 

So _please_ tell me what you thought? Take sympathy on the girl who's posting fanfiction two days before her giant research paper is due!


	2. Chapter 2

Hearken! I have managed to claw my way through the foggy mist of unfortunate finals to bring you all this update! Okay. So really it was beta'd a year ago or something, but let's pretend that didn't happen. Let's pretend I persevered through tribulation and somehow pulled off this miraculous feat. Once I start vacation, I should be able to update a bit more regularly. Until then... review! _A reminder: _Whilst we strive for at least semi-accurate history, I find it unlikely that everything will be caught. On these occasions, I ask that you do as Chicago requested and look away, baby. Look away. Highest of gratitude to Ishandafranc for the beta.

**II.**

**Her Psychology Today**

"Jean, thank you for coming. Please, follow me."

Xavier led Jean Grey through his home, to the study. It was a path well known to her; she and Scott had spent countless afternoons there, positioned between the sea of books and the grand piano. It was the only place that Scott ever allowed to be sloppy. His bedroom, after all, was spotless. Every paper, every file, every picture in the house was categorized in a system of his own design, and not one of those strange, complicated, meant-to-be-ignored systems either, but a simple alphabetically and chronologically based method that anyone could follow.

But the study… he'd take her to the study and stretch out. Relax. While explaining to her the brilliant strategies of Napoleon or Alexander, he'd rummage through five books at once, pointing out this excerpt and that quote, never bothering to put the books back, as if his mind were running too fast and he was afraid he wouldn't be able to keep up.

It was a shocking thing to see Scott's alcove, his haven, stripped and sullied by long black streaks leading up to a very large metallic box. Jean lingered beneath the arch of the doorway, unable to step inside.

Xavier approached a tall, young man, all shiny blonde hair and careless posture, as if he didn't know his expensive suit deserved better. She knew the type at once – old money, spoiled, and handsome - the kind of man that would float through life. There was even a name attached to his face. A Mr.…W…

"Jean, this is Mr. Worthington. Warren, Miss Grey."

"Miss Grey!" Worthington spread his lips into an easy smile. "A sincere pleasure. Scott's always said you were breathtakingly beautiful, but you can't always trust those besotted dreamers. Should've known that even in love, Scott can't speak anything but the absolute truth."

"You know Scott?"

"Yes. We're poker buddies."

"Oh."

"Indeed. Come inside, we need to talk. I know the study must be strange in its current state," Xavier said, almost apologizing, "but it didn't seem like there was any place more fitting for this than Scott's sanctuary. After all, it's a project that will, hopefully, bring him home sooner."

Curiosity piqued, Jean at last stepped inside. "I don't understand."

Worthington smiled patiently. "Miss Grey, as I'm sure you know, every American is doing what they can to help out the war effort. You, as I understand, are currently running a fundraiser through your college?"

"Yes."

"I've – that is, my _school_, has been contracted by the United States Government for a very important project. Charles here was the first person I called, and to round out our group, he's suggested a Dr. Henry McCoy… and you. You are, I understand, a student of psychology?"

"I am, but there have to be more qualified- "

"Miss Grey, Charles is perhaps the most qualified person on the planet. What I want in addition is a fresh perspective. Your grade reports are exceptional and you've been noted for your ability to make novel points about very old, very boring facts."

Her eyes drifted to the metallic box. "What kind of project is it?"

The gentlemen exchanged glances and then Xavier began, "Well. It's called Cerebro."

* * *

**Lazy Poker Blues**

"_Pardon me boys, is that the Chattanooga Choo-Choo_…"

A group of boys – no, men – cheered amicably as one of the WAF girls satisfied her inner vocal artist on the dimly lit stage. There was nothing particularly spectacular about her – just short, curled brown hair, a bright and round face, a decent voice, and nice calves – but perhaps she reminded them of their back-home sweethearts, because they urged her towards an encore as she finished.

At one table, Private Allerdyce toyed with a lighter, flipping it this way and that. Occasionally his gaze would dart to the two men at his side: fellow private LeBeau and Lieutenant Summers. They were the last participants in a game of poker, and some small quantity of chocolate – suddenly a precious commodity – lay scattered on the table between their cards.

"Give up, Sir," LeBeau intoned, smirking in a way that would've meant something if he hadn't been wearing the same expression all evening, through great and poor hands alike.

"I don't think so, _Private_." For his part, Summers had a fantastic poker face, an inscrutable mask that never seemed to shift or falter. There was little wonder why they, of all the men who'd started the game, would find themselves at its end.

"Well, looky here. An' old fashioned Texas Hold 'Em battle, huh?" The empty chair at their table was pulled back, and a lithe figure filled it. Anna Raven grinned widely, taking the opportunity to lean over and examine both hands. She held her back her reaction with a small shrug. "Huh."

"Miss Raven." Allerdyce acknowledge.

She gave a small bow. "So how long have these two been at it?"

Allerdyce made a bored face. "Too long." But the female's presence had changed the atmosphere and there was only a short period during which edged taunts were exchanged between the young men and then, finally, the cards were thrown: a full house against a royal flush. The Cajun leaned back slowly, shaking his head. "Da Lieutenant is bringin' down troop morale."

Collecting his chocolate, Scott shrugged. "Maybe the Private should be cleaning his gun instead of playing cards."

Remy turned to Anna and sighed. "Care t' help soothe da wounds o' dis violently painful loss?"

She arched a brow. "Are ya suggestin' Ah play consolation prize?"

Allerdyce snickered and LeBeau rolled his eyes. "Come on, _chere_. We could make a night of it, _oui_? You, me, da moonlight… it'll be just like old times. Remember dat dance we learned from da old man who-"

Anna waved her hand. "Yeah, yeah. Nostalgia will get ya nowhere. It so happens Ah have something very _important_ ta discuss with Lieutenant Summers here an' you have nothin' ta do with it. Not that it hasn't been simply wonderful makin' your acquaintance again, Remy darlin'." She gave him a smile that was as sweet as raisin pecan pie adrift in a sea of syrup.

"Y' know, y' were nowhere near dis difficult when we met."

"Really?" She grinned. "Then how come yo' first words ta me were 'Miss, y' got t' be da most difficult person Ah ever met'?

"Dat's right. T' which y' answered-"

"Ah'd be much nicer if you'd take your hands out o' my blouse."

Allerdyce nearly spit up his drink. "What where you guys _doing_?"

Remy winked suggestively, but Anna wrinkled her nose. "Nothin' as bad as you're thinkin'. Ah wasn't wearin' my blouse at the time." And somehow, that wasn't much better. She tried again. "Ah was swimmin' at the local pool, an' all my stuff was in my locker. I went back ta retrieve it an' there was Remy LeBeau, shufflin' through my clothes, hands pullin' a bundle o' cash from my pocket. I threw a bottle at his head, called him a thief, and vowed ta get him arrested. That's when he called me difficult."

"Interesting history."

Anna shrugged. "It was years ago. We were kids." Her eyes met Remy's, and something danced between them. Quite a bit of history there, it seemed. Strange coincidence, that Remy would end up on the platoon designated to care for her and her current abode. But then, Allerdyce reminded himself, history wasn't made up of only good things and shiny places; it was also about betrayal, anger, and insurmountable pain. Also, he really had to start working on that novel of his.

Anna made a grab for Scott's arm and pulled him up from the table. "C'mon. You an' me got business."

"Didn't forget." The brunette lieutenant responded easily. "Hey, want a piece of chocolate?"

* * *

**Jealous Heart**

"Did he look jealous?" Anna wondered, as she and Scott stepped out into the moonlight.

"A bit," he acknowledged.

She seemed to consider that, and then a smile spread wide across her face. "Good."

"You realize it probably isn't beneficial to have a soldier under my command who hates me because he thinks I'm after an old girlfriend. And the fact that we're having this conversation at all is-"

"Ah know, Ah know. Very schoolyard o' us."

Scott shrugged. "I was going to say far more amusing than it ought to be, but yes, what you said is also true."

She laughed openly. "So, now let's get down ta business, huh? Tell me all about this girl o' yours, Jean."

* * *

**Lullaby for the New World Order**

"Well, well, well. Miss Emma Frost." Emma slid her pencil behind an ear and swiveled around in her plush chair to greet her guest. How he managed to move about freely through the headquarters was beyond her; Sebastian Shaw was open about his distaste for Hitler. However, that was only natural; they both wanted to own the world, two children fighting over the same toy and neither prone to sharing. Yet he traveled in circles high above her own.

"Sebastian," Emma said, crossing her arms over her chest. She kept her voice even, uninterested.

"I was just curious as to how your Blackbird venture was turning out. I hear there's a long, long list of people waiting for you to screw up so they can get their chance at things. That's quite a bit of pressure, isn't it?"

"Nothing I can't handle."

"Maybe," Sebastian admitted. He drifted into the room, dropped his body onto the desk, and grinned down at her. "But why make the effort at all?"

She rolled her eyes in a slow, deliberate gesture. "Not this again."

Undeterred by her lack of enthusiasm, he went on. "Emma, don't you realize it? Hitler's going to fail. His fall has already begun. He's moving towards Moscow, the idiot, and just as the Americans are making their presence felt. He's turning into just another 'could've, might've' man in history."

She laughed and shook her head. "And you're doing so much better?"

"I'm waiting for my turn, and planning all the while. And Emma, you're being offered something amazing: a chance to stand with me. You don't have to claw or scheme your way to the top; the position is already yours."

"_Right_," she sighed. "As part of the Hellfire Club."

"It'll be a wonderful joke. No one will have a blacker heart than she who calls herself the White Queen."

"Except that I don't intend to join your fantasy, Sebastian."

"Oh," he smiled pleasantly, "You will. I'm just stopping by now so as to ensure my bragging rights in the future."

"Such confidence?"

He petted her hair, as though he were comforting a confused, errant child. She resisted the urge to slice off his fingers and poke them into his mocking eyes. "I was just with your superiors. They're growing increasingly impatient, Emma. You've been given a deadline – five days - to recover something before they pass the job along to someone they deem more competent."

She didn't believe him until the orders were sitting in front of her face. "_Bloody hell_. They can't do this. Not when everything's finally falling into place!"

"Well, don't blame me. Join me instead." He escaped from the room before she could find something suitable to throw at him.

After a moment of solitude and silence, her hands found the phone. She dialed a number. Her fingers rapped against a crisp pile of papers. Waited. Then… "What's your status?"

The voice on the other end of the line was garbled, deliberately distorted. "_You're…not… contact me_."

She wrinkled her nose. It was like talking to a tongue-tied machine. "I set the rules. You just follow them."

"_No…my life…line_."

"What's your status?"

"_Reconnaissance…well_."

"Then you've found it?"

"_Not yet. Big…a lot of places to look_."

"Our timetable has been crunched. We need to move faster. Do what you have to, and remember that maintaining your guise is second to uncovering the Blackbird plans."

"_Backup_?"

She sighed. "I don't know. I'll see what I can do. Just get the job done."

* * *

**The Next Afternoon**

It was her first performance, an afternoon early, and she gave it exclusively to 1st squad, 3rd platoon. Over lunch, in the crowded box of a room turned mess hall, Anna donned a pretty green dress that accentuated her figure and playfully substituted a roll of bread for a microphone. Her voice was melted honey as she crooned…

"_Don't sit under the apple tree with anyone else but me,_

She winked at the boys, gave a brief spin, and went on-

_  
Anyone else but me, anyone else but me,  
_

Corporal Wagner tapped Private Drake's shoulder. "I'll be right back," he mouthed, "forgot something."

_Don't go walking down lovers' lane with anyone else but me..._

Anna slinked her arms around the neck of a soldier and stole his hat, casting a sly smile at the rest of the crowd. The squad which had, in the brief time they'd seen her, grown almost comfortable and familiar with the singer, fell into something of a trance as they realized… they were a private audience for Anna Raven – the overnight sensation that had swept across the nation, the pin-up who sweetened their dreams…

She really did have the voice of an angel. Was it any wonder people loved her? She continued -

"_Till I come marchin'…"_

Anna paused suddenly, tightening her grip on the bread roll until her fingers sunk past the hard flaky crust, embedding themselves into the softer dough hidden inside. She swallowed hard, and then smiled wide. "Uh, sorry," she said sheepishly, as she noticed the concerned look of her patrons. "Just got dizzy, is all…"

Several of the soldiers tried to stand, to help her, but she avoided their assistance. "Knock that off. The show must go on, right?" She grinned again and lifted the bread to her lips-

"_Marchin' home…"_

But she clearly wasn't fine. Anna blinked. "Ah don't feel…" She gasped, and then her eyes rolled up in the back of her head and she fell forward, towards the hard floor. Private LeBeau was there, just in time to save her body from the rough contact. It happened so fast; he was still blinking in surprise when others began crowding around in wonder and fear.

"She just fainted," Sergeant Logan said after examining her, sounding sure and relieved. He carefully extracted her from LeBeau's arms and set her down on a chair, one hand supporting her neck. "Gimme my bag." The others stared at him for a minute, until he rolled his eyes and repeated his command.

Summers was there almost instantly, handing the man a faded green pack, from which Logan quickly removed a small canteen. He twisted off the lid and held it the metallic container beneath her nose. Upon receiving no response, he held it under again and gently shook her.

After a moment, she took a deep breath and her eyelids fluttered. She shifted on the chair, moaning quietly.

Leaning towards her, LeBeau whispered, "Wakey, wakey, Sleepin' Beauty."

"S'funny," she mumbled, still not quite opening her eyes. "Thought Ah saw a hideous monster of a man. Scared me half t' death." One eye peeked open and moved up towards LeBeau. She winced. "Oh. Wasn't a dream then."

"I'd say she's doing better," Bobby teased.

As she came back to life, sitting up on her own, Logan frowned. "Want to tell us what that was really all about, Darlin'?"

She grinned easily, but still looked faint. "Sorry 'bout the drama, Sergeant, didn't mean ta make a scene. Ah just… the lights are kind o' strange, aren't they? My head was already hurtin' an' all… Ah'm gonna go up an' find a bathroom."

"Alone?" Summers asked, skeptically. "I'd feel better if you had an escort."

"I'll volunteer." LeBeau said. "It'd be my pleasure."

"Ah'll bet," Anna said, dryly. "Lieutenant, Ah'm really very okay."

But the young man shook his head. "I insist. LeBeau, on your best behavior."

"'Course," he agreed, reaching up to offer his arm to the lady. She stared at it like it might've been a snake, ready to strike, then sighed and accepted the offer. Together, they left the room.

"The rest o' you, we got practice in fifteen minutes," Logan said, voice lifting over the sound of chatter and eliciting a moan. "Basement," he finished.

Summers nodded at him. "Good job with Miss Raven." He received only a grunt. "I'm going to go check on the others, upstairs."

* * *

**Romantic Balcony**

"Remy, ya didn't have ta accompany me up here," Anna said as she emerged from the bathroom looking refreshed and healthy – like she'd never been sick at all.

He smiled. "_Oui_. I know. But I'm wonderfully thoughtful like dat, _chere_."

"My hero," she teased.

"Every chance I get." He reached for her hand, pressing a small kiss to it. They matched gazes. "Hi," he whispered softly.

"Hey," Anna answered. She looked down. "Ah really am sorry that things didn't work out properly with Belladonna."

"I'm really sorry things didn't work out wit' _you_," Remy said.

"Well," she reclaimed her hand and ran it across the back of her hair. "_C'est la vie_."

"Cruel truth," he acknowledged. He eyed her slowly. "What'd you do in dat bathroom, anyway? Y' look good."

"Ya know…" she smiled. "Girl stuff. Let's go out on the balcony, Remy. Just for a second, Ah feel much better, but a little fresh air can only help m' cause."

"I was five seconds from suggestin' dat myself." He offered his arm, but she moved past it, pushing aside the heavy beige curtains.

* * *

**A Saucerful of Secrets**

Someday, he'd be through with secrets. Stupid secrets. Heavy secrets. Someday, he'd be able to look people in the eye and not feel squirmy inside. But those days were not going to be soon in coming.

He couldn't let that deter him. He had a task. A goal. A _purpose_.

Alone for the first time in what seemed like forever, he dropped his act, just a bit. Just enough. There was a prayer he'd learned from the nuns, which he recited in a very quiet voice. He finished: "_Denn Dein ist das Reich und die Kraft und die Herrlichkeit in Ewigkeit_".

"Hey…Kurt, you in there?"

Corporal Wagner glanced up at the door. Carefully, he stood. Swallowed. "Drake?"

"Naw, it's the boogeyman. Come on. We have practice downstairs in like, two minutes… Logan's in charge."

"I'll be right there."

* * *

**Five Minutes Later…**

Somewhere in Mancini's, a light flashed.

* * *

_**Vertigo**_

Some events turn time into putty, a malleable thing to be stretched or compressed.

Events like the explosion.

For one instant, time was pulled so wide that it seemed to have stopped completely. There existed no sound, no movement, just an oppressive, suffocating sense of doom. The Inevitable.

And then, in the blink of an eye, time was moving extra fast, as if trying to catch up with itself. It went by so quickly, the screeching of twisting metal, the thunder of imploding rooms, the roar of fire spreading, people screaming. The blaze, an indiscriminately feasting fire-god, was everywhere at once.

Eventually, it had its fill.

* * *

_**Soldier**_

Scott opened his eyes… shut them…and opened them again. He exhaled softly and tried once more. He could see… nothing. Unless he was willing to count the vague, faint blurs of light, and he wasn't.

His limbs, at least, were cooperating. Sort of. He pushed himself up from the rough ground, winced in pain from what had to be a serious injury to his right shoulder, and blinked again. Still… nothing.

"Hey," someone called out. "Is that Lieutenant Summers?" Drake. "Oh, thank _God_." Scott only had to wait a moment more before there were gentle hands easing him further from the wreckage.

"Have a look at his head." That had to be Allerdyce, traces of an Australian accent – where the boy had spent half his life – suddenly stronger. "That's a lot of blood."

Blood? Ah, the warm river flowing down into his mouth. He would've been more concerned with that had his eyes been working even a little. "Who else?" he mumbled, not quite ready for full sentences. He hoped they could somehow understand: he needed to know who'd survived the attack.

God was feeling kind. They understood. "Uh…1st squad, 3rd platoon, Bravo company was down in the basement when the explosion sounded. It's still more or less intact. The basement wasn't hit hard. The ground level is sort trashed, but okay in some places, like here. Otherwise… there's not much left. Everything else is gone, I think. We've found a few other survivors, but…"

His heart seemed to catch in his throat. "Oh God." How many men were dead? At least two other squads under his command. "Logan?". The new leader if Scott couldn't recover soon.

"He's out looking for survivors, too. We split up, but we're going to regroup in a few hours. We better keep moving. The blood's drying and I think you can walk." Bobby stepped away. Without the contact, the darkness closed in. Scott felt like he was swimming in a black hole.

"I-" He had to tell them.

"The others are gonna fall down and kiss the ground you walk on, Sir. We've all been soldiers for months, but we haven't seen anything like this. We can't get in touch with the nearest base. You're all we've got."

"Logan-"

Allerdyce sighed audibly. "Is good on the field but crap when it comes to morale. Sir. I guarantee you that you're needed. We've all been a little… lost." Allerdyce, previously brash, defiant, finished on a quiet, _needy_ note.

_Needed?_

_Damn it._

He hurt so much all over. His elbows were raw. His legs were weak. He was _blind_. Every part of him wanted to curl up and wait for better days, for afternoons with Jean and chess games with Charles. But the next thing he knew, his back was straightening – no easy feat – and his arm reached out. "I need a little help walking. Can I borrow your arm?"

"Certainly, Sir."

He breathed. So what if he couldn't see at the present moment? A problem, yes, but not an insurmountable one. After all, Jean had always been able to lift his spirits with hardly anything more than a smile and some reassuring words. Perhaps now was the time for some of those rousing, inspirational speeches he had spent so much time reading that he had inadvertently memorized them? Sight or not, he had a job to do. His duty. Besides, he had good, trustworthy men that could be his eyes for him, if need be.

* * *

**Warning**

"Ah get the feelin' this is somehow your fault," Anna stated dryly, as she and Remy trudged through the ruins of the once grand hotel. She'd deserted her heeled shoes and let her hair down.

"I know I should have some clever comeback, but I'm just a little bit shocked dat we still alive, _chere_." It was some kind of miracle. They'd been on the second floor, on a balcony. The room was destroyed, walls torn and the ceiling half-caved… but they had been untouched.

"Ah'm not so sure we are alive. Ah always said spendin' time with you was hell."

"Apparently, y' aren't sufferin' from my predicament."

"Ah'm with you, Remy. 'Course Ah'm sufferin'."

"You can stop dat now."

She flashed him a smile. "Actually, Ah can't. Ah am shaken. In fact, Ah may be in shock. This must be some kind o' copin' mechanism."

He frowned. "Do y' really hate me so much dat beratin' me is da only thing dat can comfort y' after a deadly explosion?"

She shrugged. "Back home, Ah have a dart board with your picture on it."

"So…" He looked sly. "You commonly associate my face wit' da concept o' penetration?"

"Recoverin', are we?"

Remy opened his mouth to speak but promptly closed it. He spun his hand into a proper salute.

"What the hell are ya… Sergeant?" Anna grinned as a group of soldiers emerged from the wreckage around the corner they'd been about to turn.

The short sergeant nodded at her. "You all right?"

"Yes. You have the looks o' folks scourin' for survivors, am Ah right?"

"This is the end of our route. You didn't see anyone else?" After she'd said no, he went on. "We're heading down to the basement to take roll and discuss our next step."

"Like callin' for help?"

The sergeant almost snarled. Not at them, but perhaps at the circumstances he couldn't control. "Like rootin' out the traitor who did this."

Both Remy and Anna were taken aback. "Traitor? What makes ya think…? Ah thought maybe an air raid."

"Found this in the hall where we all had lunch." He held up a hand – in it, there was a small radio transceiver. They had something similar, but- "Nazi technology ," Logan said, sounding disgusted.

-------------------------------------------------

And so it ends, chapter two. There's a traitor, and a bomb, and Anna and Remy are on seemingly friendly terms. Oh, and everyone has secrets. Starting chapter three, the glossy veneer that hides them will begin to crack. (Cue dramatic music). Questions? Comments? Coconuts? Send them all to me at Eileenblzr (at) Yahoo (dot) Com. Or check out my LJ (linked on my profile page).

**WAIT! DON'T GO! **Come join the Rogue/Gambit forum in the movieverse, where we can all rant, rave, plot and play games together! Open now. Shiny things! Talk of pretty Cajuns! You want to visit this forum... just as soon as you leave me a review. :P


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